EThere are loud films and quiet ones, those that ingratiate themselves, “go for business,” as director Christian Petzold once maliciously called it; Films that are brittle, that want viewers to become curious and have patience for a while. Michael Klier's films never tried to draw attention to themselves by any means possible.
You're still expecting viewers who don't want the situation to be clear from the first picture. This may have something to do with the fact that Klier is now over eighty, that he gained experience at a time that will seem to younger people like the Bronze Age of cinema, in France, as an intern with Truffaut; and that to this day he doesn't believe he has to follow certain rules in order for people to follow him.
There were films like “Everywhere is better where we are not” (1989), “Ostkreuz” and constant breaks. Now there is “The River Between Us”. An old white man is interested in the story of two young women. Of course, this is not for the very rigid. You don't have to worry about that because what is shown is what matters.
What can be seen, what light, what framing, how is an image composed? Is there music in diegesis, i.e. in the narrated world, or does it come from the off? Many films pay surprisingly little attention to this. Music, for example, is a lubricant for feelings, glutamate for the ears. When Klier hears off-screen music for the first time after about an hour, you become aware of its significance.
“The River Between Us” is little more than a sketch of a story. Alice (Lena Urzendowsky), a young woman, an activist, has to do social service because she protested militantly against the construction of a bridge over the Elbe. Her father is one of the architects of the urban program of which the bridge is part. The mother is a psychotherapist. You never see the parents. But they are present.
Attraction and repulsion
Alice is tasked with caring for Cam (Kotti Yun), who is traumatized after a racist attack. Something arises between the two, repulsion and attraction, it's difficult because neither of them wants to open up.
Not much happens. They cross the Elbe by ferry in Dresden, push their bikes up the steep mountain, ride down, the camera is sometimes very close to them, then it discreetly keeps its distance. Klier avoids the usual wasteland of shots and counter shots. The two can usually be seen in two-shots. This makes it easier to recognize what separates and what we have in common.
The film accompanies and observes them rather than forcing them into a plot. The relationship changes. At first Cam seems to need Alice's, then it's the other way around. They struggle with what to do with their lives. Cam needs distance, Alice, whose activism has strangely come to nothing, is looking for closeness. Klier leaves it open as to what happens next.
He shows something in pictures in which everything is not already clear, he preserves the ambivalences. He doesn't say many words. You learn about feelings, moods and moods through the values of the light, through the movements in the room and the perspective of the camera. This is a type of cinema that has become increasingly rare. That alone makes this film worth seeing.
In the cinema from Thursday.
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